


untitled

by velvetgunfire



Category: w-inds. (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-02-12
Updated: 2007-02-12
Packaged: 2019-04-28 02:43:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14439759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/velvetgunfire/pseuds/velvetgunfire
Summary: Yet another W-inds. Valentine's fic.  Also inspired by the thing/rumour where Ryu kissed Ryo to make him lose concentration in dance class, or something ...





	untitled

It was what he'd dreamt of last night, that startling pressure of lips and having his vision filled with nothing but Ryuichi's eyes. What he'd dreamt of for several nights before. And just when Ryuichi would pull away, laughing as their noses bumped clumsily, he'd wake up.   
  
Strange how memories came back to visit, unmellowed with the passage of time, clear as a bowlful of sky.   
  
He stepped into the shower, letting it sluice away the stickiness of sweat on his skin, snatches of the dream still spliced through with the grogginess of waking and the dull thump of his heart. Each heavy thud seemed to pull the blood through his body like water through a gate, and his fingers and toes tingled with the sensation. The water ran hot, steam clouding the mirror, and he watched his fingers turn pink with the sudden warmth.   
  
 _"Ryohei?"_  Ryuichi asked, words smothered by a yawn. There was no one in the dressing-room but them. Keita would be late as usual, someone was probably finding it difficult to awaken him. Ryohei remembered when they'd try to wake him, only to find out that he'd barred the door with a chair from inside his room, just for a few more minutes of sleep.   
  
Ryuichi was always incoherent in the mornings. He'd start at any question, any greeting, then his eyes would glaze over and his lips would part and stay parted ever so slightly as he found he forgot what he was about to say, and finally, he'd attempt to cover it up with a small, inarticulate vocalisation that was not so much a reply as it was a sound.   
  
Ryohei liked it, this Ryuichi without the trappings of his natural exuberance.   
  
Ryuichi's lips were pink, so was the tongue that darted out to moisten them. His blunt-cut, heavy fringe swung forwards as he listed to the side, finally curling up and pillowing his head on Ryohei's lap.   
  
 _Wake up, Ryu, Ryu, Ryu,_  Ryohei baited, teasing his fingertips across Ryuichi's cheek and down the tender skin behind his ear. Ryuichi mumbled something, easing closer, and  _oh_  --   
  
his fingers slipped.  
  
He ran wet fingertips over one nipple, pinched it.   
  
The faint sigh of Ryuichi's exhale --   
  
It was dark behind Ryohei's eyelids. His fingers glided down his abdomen, following the path of the water. The trail left behind the residue of touch, and he felt himself harden with a shudder.   
  
The curl of Ryuichi's fingers, as he brought his loosely-clasped hands closer to his mouth, continuing to sleep on.   
  
Ryohei felt his fingers settle about himself, almost reluctantly, and he --   
  
Surely it wouldn't hurt to think of Ryuichi just this  _once more_  --   
  
Faster, harder --   
  
 _A lock of that dark hair slipped across the nape of Ryuichi's neck in his restless sleep, the press of his lips damp against the thigh of Ryohei's pants_  
  
and Ryohei came, spent with exhaustion, leaning against the shower walls and breathing hard.   
  
* * *  
  
Touching Ryuichi while he was half-asleep was safe, manageable. Touching Ryuichi while he was awake was electric.   
  
Ryuichi would touch him, too, slight brushes and an arm about him, all the while laughing, and then darting off to fling an arm about Keita and nose inquisitively into his magazine.   
  
"Get your own magazine," Keita retorted, laughing, and Ryuichi burrowed into Keita's side, poking at him. "C'mon, Keita, don't be like  _that_!"  
  
Keita rolled over on the sofa, off-set of the PV, pretending to ignore Ryuichi. Ryohei could see the corner of Keita's mouth twitch up as Ryuichi continued his assault.   
  
It was only normal, Ryohei reckoned. All these things -- it was not so much that they meant nothing, as that they were the outward manifestations of Ryuichi's nature. Not so much a two-way connection as a one-way gift.   
  
He was cautious about touching Ryuichi. Tiny slivers of fear sliding under his skin and making contact difficult.  
  
He'd been a bit of a jokester in middle school, but with W-inds, he'd had to step into the role of leader. It was as if living so closely together had played up their differences. It was one way to package them as idols, Ryohei supposed.   
  
And Ryuichi laughing so carelessly, he didn't give a damn about all these considerations. He was just who he was.  
  
Ryuichi curled an arm through his as they were walking away from the set at the end of the day, invading his personal space without a second thought, and Ryohei didn't know whether to pull back or be glad of it, for he would not have extended the invitation. All these minute points of entry that combined to make up a larger sense of trespass.   
  
He thought he might like to see Ryuichi at a loss for once.  
  
Such a cruel little thought.  
  
* * *  
  
"Go on," Keita said. Ryohei could hear them clearly from his position near the door, their voices carried well.   
  
"I," Ryuichi said, and he sounded just a touch frightened. It seemed like a confession, Ryohei raised an eyebrow. It wasn't as if he was  _surprised_ , what with the amount of horsing around they did. He looked around casually, hoping no one would come up the corridor and catch him loitering till their conversation was over.  
  
" ... I can't."   
  
Now  _that_  was surprising.   
  
"Why can't you?" Keita's voice was soft, reassuring. A different side of Keita than what usually showed through.   
  
Ryuichi sighed, and there was a creak of old sofa springs, presumably he was shifting in his seat. "He doesn't ... "   
  
"He doesn't ... ?" Keita prodded.  
  
"He doesn't," Ryuichi repeated, more firmly, closing the conversation like a book. There was another sound of him shifting.  
  
Ryohei knocked on the dressing-room door, then pushed it open. Ryuichi's eyes were wide as they took in him, and then they slitted as he smiled his usual smile.   
  
* * *  
  
The day before Valentine's Ryuichi was exceptionally edgy, such that even Ryohei couldn't help but feel bad for him.   
  
He could  _see_  the tension practically vibrating off Ryuichi's skin, it only served to fuel his curiousity. And when Ryuichi bolted after the day's recording was over, Keita raised an eyebrow at him, and he shrugged and smiled back.   
  
But couldn't refrain from tailing him.   
  
Was it this door Ryuichi'd gone through?   
  
Ryuichi cleared his throat from behind, and Ryohei jumped, resting his hand on the cold metal doorknob to steady himself.   
  
"Ryuichi! You startled me." He hoped the flush he felt rising on his cheeks wasn't too obvious. Excuses begun to rise in his mind, and were sorted into the plausible and the unlikely.  
  
"Ah -- Ryohei." Ryuichi smiled at him, and it seemed a little forced. Ryohei stepped aside to let him through the door, and Ryuichi caught his hand -- the door swung shut behind them with a bang, leaving them still in the corridor. A sort of clean, particulate, surreal light. Celluloid grain. The brighter golds of the sun outside the window and the colder whites of the lights overhead in the corridor.   
  
"Um," Ryuichi said, again, and tried to press a rose into his hand. He jerked his hand back, and Ryuichi bent to pick up the fallen rose, head hung so low Ryohei couldn't make out his expression.  
  
"Please?"   
  
It was what Ryohei'd thought he wanted, wanted to hear, but now that he had it -- a sharp, sour feeling stung his nostrils.   
  
Ryuichi toyed with the rose, now bruised, brushing a finger over its petals. "If you don't -- love me, you can still -- I've seen you. You looking." He lifted his head and gave Ryohei a tiny smile.   
  
Ryohei reached out his hand for the rose, and Ryuichi handed it over without protest. It was a pale, undemanding pink edging towards white, one he hadn't expected Ryuichi to choose.   
  
"I'll try," Ryohei said. "I'm -- I'm afraid."  
  
* * *


End file.
